She moves along the rocks, paw pads slipping softly over their surfaces with barely a whisper as early morning mist covers her white form and gives her a ghostly look. She makes her way toward a dead tree, the charred and gnarled stump making a den in the roots of the petrified relic. The white viper watches the world as she lays within the confines of her perfect little world, the silence of the morning uninterrupted as she thinks on the events of the night.

It is not too long before the darkened dove is made to close her eyes, the lids far too heavy to keep up. With a small growl of protest, Jaidah succumbs to sleep. She does not dream, only listens to what happens outside her place. Light sleeping is what she does best, two and a half years of torture left her without the ability to actually sleep, having been jumped and dragged away from that sweet darkness. The slightest noise will make her eyes open, even the whispering of the breeze and the buzzing of flies, she is aware.

Does anyone dare to wake her? Will they come to check out her little dwelling? They might be in for a surprise if they do.